the rest of her was stuck. There was the smell of sewer. She was very cold.
Taking this inventory drained her energy, and she had to rest, at least as much as possible in that position. A moment later she distinguished voices coming from the other room. She shrank into herself as her mind raced in panic backward to the time a year ago when everything had also hurt, to that darkness, to the cold and hard place, to the stench. She heard the voices again.
Oh, God! They are here. No, no!
She wanted to curl up and shut everything out, but she couldn’t. Whenever she struggled to move, her head throbbed, her side screamed, and pain and dizziness caused her stomach to roil. She lay still. She could do nothing.
THIRTY minutes later the searchers were stymied, even though the apartment was in shambles. “Fuck,” Trommler spit out in exasperation. “Where the hell did she hide them? There isn’t any place we haven’t looked!”
“There must be,” his partner shouted in frustration. “We’re running out of time!”
In the bathroom Kate had caught this exchange, but it made no sense to her.
They’re speaking English, not German. That’s crazy.
Trommler grumbled: “I know how find out.” He stalked to the bathroom and yanked open cabinets until he found a bucket, then filled it from the cold water spigot in the bathtub.
Standing behind him in the doorway, his partner asked: “What are you planning to do?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Trommler said callously as he wrestled the filled bucket out of the tub and set it on the floor.
The other man gripped his forearm. “This assignment is important, but for Pete’s sake, she’s not some KGB skank.”
Trommler scowled: “Yes, this assignment is important. You might not care about your career, but I care about mine. He told us to get it done. He didn’t say to treat her with kid gloves.” The other man searched Trommler’s face for another two seconds before loosening his grip. Trommler seized the bucket handle and lifted the water to Kate’s eye level.
While they were arguing, Kate remained motionless, hoping they wouldn’t notice she was conscious, but when the water soaked the pillow case and splashed down her almost naked body, she jerked her head up, shocked by the stabbing cold. She opened her mouth to suck in air but inhaled wet fabric instead. She felt like she was suffocating.
Grasping her hair, Trommler pulled her head back and shouted: “Where are they?” Consumed by pain, she didn’t hear the question and couldn’t answer. He raised his hand and struck her across the face. When she screamed, a smile turned up the corners of his mouth. Pain coiled and recoiled through Kate’s aching brain. She had no idea what was happening. She only knew that she was in agony.
His partner had seen the smile. Stepping between him and the moaning woman, he commanded: “Enough!”
Trommler only sneered, but when he raised his hand again, the other man caught it in his own. “I mean it. Stop!” he hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes dark with rage. Then he laid his other hand on Kate’s shoulder and asked quietly: “Where are the papers? If you tell us where they are, we’ll leave you alone.”
His soft touch drew Kate far enough out of the black chasm of pain that she realized he was asking her a question. She raised her head slightly, to the accompaniment of more barbs of pain. It was impossible for her to string two thoughts together.
Seeing her move, Trommler screamed into her ear: “The papers. Where are the papers?”
“Wha…?” she moaned.
Trommler erupted. Snatching his hand out of his partner’s grasp, he grabbed her shoulders and shook violently, whipping her head from side to side and sending shock waves through her injured brain. Kate screamed in agony before sliding into unconsciousness.
“Damn it, Trommler! What good did that do?”
“Fuck her! I’ll get her back,” he vowed as he picked up the bucket and stepped toward the tub.
“No!” the other man shouted, gripping Trommler’s shoulders from behind and spinning him around. “Enough! You’re not going to get anything out of her. I’m not letting this continue. She is one of us!” He stared the other man directly in the eyes, warning him.
After a short stare-down, Trommler capitulated, producing a crooked smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Okay, man. But it’s on you when we don’t come back with the stuff.”
“Fine with me,” his partner retorted. He turned and started walking toward the living room, shaking his head as he went. At the table by the door, he picked up Kate’s purse, found her keys and jiggled them at his partner. “We haven’t looked in the car yet.”
“Yeah, right. A trained agent leaves classified papers in her car?”
“You want to be the one to tell him we didn’t look in the car?” his partner countered. Trommler shrugged, pulled open the door, and tramped out. Glancing quickly back toward the bathroom, the other man shook his head regretfully, passed through the door, and closed it behind him.
HOURS or minutes or seconds later, Kate regained consciousness. Or she thought she did. She didn’t know where she was. She couldn’t remember anything that had happened in the last minute or hour or day. She was extremely cold and wet, and everything hurt. It was dark; it smelled; and she couldn’t move. She tried desperately to bring order to the chaos of her consciousness, but the darkness in her mind blended into the darkness around her and chaos ruled.
I have to focus!
As much as Kate willed herself to discipline her mind, she could not. Panic darted wildly through her, grasping every reasonable thought with claw-tipped fingers, mangling it, and transforming it into fear.
Breathe, in and out!
But each time she opened her mouth for a deep breath, she sucked in the damp fabric of the pillow case that was still clinging to her face. She choked over and over.
Be calm and focus!
Eventually Kate achieved momentary calm, enough to make decisions.
Okay. I have to get loose. I have to get help.
Her mouth wasn’t bound, so she screamed as loud as she could as long as she could until she couldn’t scream any more. Nothing happened. Panic returned and led her back to that place; to the place that lived right beneath her consciousness; to the cold, damp, dark home of pain and fear, where she had endured six horrible months.
Panic whispered in her ear: Yes, you are back in that place. They’re gone now, but they will be back. Your screaming will bring them back.
Her heart raced, and her stomach twisted. There was no reason to fight. They would always win. She gave up. She would die here.
Chapter Two
Two days earlier, on Wednesday, January 6, 1988, Kate Taylor
